The Surrender
by TheTeaLeaf24
Summary: A short drabble of the Frank and Alice Longbottom torture inspired by the song 'Broken Crown'. Violent. I do not own anything from Mumford and Sons or the world of HP. One Shot.


Blood carved a trail down scratched and bruised cheeks, that hadn't even had enough time to begin scabbing over. His vision ran red where he could see more then blurred lights and dark figures. But even that was blending. Blending. Blending into the agony. No. Not agony. This was something worse than that. Something deeper. This was the ultimate suffering. This was the soul being ripped from the body, only it wasn't a ripping but a slow peeling, inch by inch he was being pulled out of himself. At least he wasn't screaming anymore, no, he had given up on that some hours before. It made no difference, and the feeling of the cruciatis curse was no longer a shock…no longer some unfamiliar sensation of his body betraying itself.  
What pain he felt now, what really destroyed him was the mangled and just as battered body of his wife. Alice. Beautiful sweet perfect Alice. Alice. The mother of his stunning baby boy. The one instance of perfection the universe had allowed to take a human form. And there she was, weeping on the floor in silence beside him. His broken fingers curled around hers, even though he could feel the splintered bones beneath his skin protesting with great resistance the movement. But he would not let her go. He would not let her go. He had made her that promise the night she took his last name. Every curse that flew at him or his love, did not break their bond. At most he only had to find her hand again in the storm of agony. It was never hard though. She was the light which guided him home and the love that set him free. With her he could be anything.  
"Where is your son? Tell me, that's all you have to do. That's all. The Dark Lord is merciful to those who obey him," the sharp voice of Bellatrix cut through the heavy panting of his own effort to take a breath that didn't send burning turpentine down his veins. But it hurt… all of it hurt so much. He wasn't frightened. He studied Alice and could have sworn he saw her gaze harden at the mention of their child. He could have sworn she shook her head no. Perhaps he had imagined it. Because the both of them knew how deeply he loved her, how easily he would die to save her. There was however, no question in his heart, that he would never let them take Neville. If only he could save them both.  
"I'm sorry," his whisper to Alice came out almost inaudibly low, muffled by the blood in and around his mouth. He held onto her hand tighter, though every physical signal in his body told him that wasn't possible. He felt her broken fingers in his own.  
"What's that Longbottom? Got something to say? A joke perhaps… for old times sake?" The sharp tip of Bellatrix's wand dug into his cheek. His coffee eyes, now as strained and unrepentant as midnight shifted into hers. She was dead. Dead. Dead. Dead already.  
"How dare… how dare you speak of grace? We will never tell you where our son is… and he will live, knowing how weak you and Voldemort are," Frank's voice had gained some strength as he finished out his response. It lacked anger or fury, it was the tone one used when merely stating an observation of the weather or that they had errands to run. It was a fact. It was truth. This enraged her to a level Frank didn't actually think was possible. There was no high pitched call. No warning. Only the greatest pain he had ever known. He felt himself slipping, down, or perhaps up, but certainly away. Somewhere white and warm and he was comfortable.  
He sat up, blinking. His body worked, nothing hurt. Frank looked for Alice. He found her almost instantly. Golden halo of short hair and dimpled smile sitting cross-legged opposite him. He stood up and took her hand helping her to her feet as well. He couldn't help but wrap an arm around her. He looked at his bare feet, she wasn't wearing shoes and that made him smile. He looked back at his wife and pulled the small tiara from her head. He snapped it in his hands, she did the same for the crown she had pulled from his head, and he felt their old life fully slip away. Shed like a coat of skin they weren't meant to wear anymore. "You've never looked more beautiful," his words were a whisper before a soft kiss landed on her forehead. And so they departed the realm of sanity, hand in hand. Together as they always would be.


End file.
